all started with a Phone
by Sherlockian Designer
Summary: Hi all! Thanks for reading! Sorry if it's not "happily ever after" Welcome you all with all kinds of *sigh* during reading and my 1st story so anything you say is appreciated! I will write again if you know me good enoufg to do! :D


_Beep Beep_

_Text Received_

I know it is ridiculous, and it's not the first time, but It's last time.

The last Time we solved the last case together , Kidnaping Kids,In the lab, I saw you staring at me. I heard you speech with Molly,

I felt your gaze on me, obvious to me, not sure about you, I saw ,I felt , I Did observe, but chose to be silent.

-JW

It was nearly 2 A.M.

No sound, No light from windows on Baker Street. The weather was cold and windy. Maybe nearly to rain.

Just a man, walking alone under street lights, hands in his pocket, touching his phone, …_it all started by this_…_His phone_, a smile appeared on his face but faded as soon as it came.

Waiting for something to happen. A sound, a vibration, missed call from an unknown number again

He reached his flat door, opened it with his key and entered 221B in silent.

Violin Playing Stopped.

His hand move to his jacket. Picked the phone out of his pocket:

_Text Received_

I know it is ridiculous, and it's not the first time, but It's last time.

The last Time we solved the last case together , Kiddnaping Kids,In the lab, I saw you staring at me. I heard you speech with Molly,

I felt your gaze on me, obvious to me, not sure about you, I saw ,I felt , I Did observe, but chose to be silent.

-JW

His hand trembled a bit, his eyes shined because of tears. he turned back to view outside again

Dark, Quiet ,Calm, Peaceful…Peaceful? He sighed deeply. Violin started playing again with much more sad lyrics.

The door Opened and closed smoothly.

Mycroft entered the room, the only light was form fireplace. He sat on his armchair which was near the fire place.

Violin still playing and he just could feel how much heart-broken was the violinist.

After a few minutes of listening, he turned his neck to look at the younger man. Much more broken than the last days.

Not much young now. Actually elder than his age in these year.

Finally Mycroft decided to start:

-I Know, Mycroft.

-But..

-He won't receive any replies from me.

-Sherlock, I …

-Not Important.

Silence covered the room then, not continued so much, and violin started playing again.

He walked up the stairs. As soundless as he could, nearly opening the door

-John…

! oh Sorry. I didn't want to …

-Are you Ok Dear?

-Yes,I'm fine…see you tomorrow.

He closed the door behind him. leant to it escaping the conversation, he was too tired to talk.

No lamp turned on that night, same as other nights.

_No shooting sound, no violin playing, no tv sound , no shouting and arguing and nothing and nothing_ _since 3 years._

except his footsteps. His own footsteps.

Mycroft stood up , hands in his pockets now, still speechless . he started walking to window.

Violin playing stopped.

Mycroft is behind Sherlock looking outside the window.

-You waited all these 3 years. Just a little more and he can see you again.

_"I can see him as close as I always saw him then" _he said in his mind.

-Where's he now?

-In your flat, he entered some minute ago.

Sherlock turned his head back, looking straight at his brother's eyes for a second turned back quickly looking outside again.

-Mycroft,umm…Thank you.

_That soldier fellow, Mycroft remembered, he could make my Brother better or worse than he was._

-You are a lucky man Sherlock. Not everybody could find a friend like him.

Footsteps faded. Door closed.

Violin started playing, while tears coming down the detective's face…

John, looking at his phone, walking where his flat mate used to lay, Deep in his thoughts, looking in to space.

He looked at his watch again. Nearly 4 A.M. his phone: Nothing new on the screen.

He promised himself not to do it again. Not to make unreal hope for himself…

But he knew he would text him again. He fell sleep finally, his arms folded, taking his phone much tighten …

It was nearly 3 years and all John could do that night, Every night actually, was to wait.

Wait for a miracle,

his miracle, to happen.

A minute later, the only sound could be heard, was of rain hit the window and a man, breathing heavily. maybe because of his nightmares.


End file.
